


Little Habits

by MadameRed



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, Holiday, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameRed/pseuds/MadameRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco has a lot of adorable habits that Jean loves.</p>
<p>Except this one - this one is a surprise ruiner. </p>
<p>More domestic AU fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Habits

Over the course of their relationship, Marco had developed several habits that Jean found incredibly endearing. When Jean had to leave for work before Marco had even woken up, he absolutely insisted that Jean wake him up, however briefly, so that he could kiss him goodbye. Marco always said, “goodnight, I love you”, even if Jean was so mad that he didn’t say it back. He instinctively knew when Jean wanted a quiet evening; he’d open a bottle of wine and settle himself with a book, wrapping his arms around Jean when he inevitably came crawling over for a snuggle. 

Jean loved Marco’s little habits. Today, however, one of them would ruin the younger man’s plan. 

Marco caught his tongue between his teeth as he carried the watery pumpkin pie to the waiting oven, where he gently slid it onto the top rack. Thanksgiving was tomorrow, at his cousin’s house. Ymir had a tendency to turn every holiday into a party, so not only would their entire family be there, but also all of their friends (and probably their families, too). She used any social gathering as an excuse to bust out cheap beer and boxed wine and try to give everyone a vicious headache the next day. Shaking his head (though very much looking forward to tomorrow), he closed the oven door and set the timer. He was about to start cleaning up his baking mess when he heard the lock on the front door turning. Grinning to himself, he quickly washed his hands and dried them on a half-damp towel.

Jean had been gone for most of the day, but an hour previous Marco had received a text saying that he would be back within the hour, with a double mushroom pizza in tow. The pizza came through the door before Jean did, and Marco was there to take it from his hands with a peck to his cheek. He set it on the kitchen table and padded back to Jean, who had only moved into the living room and was standing around, looking somewhat uneasy. Marco canted his head to the side just slightly and approached him quietly from behind.

"Did your father call?" he asked gently. Jean turned around quickly, his hands jammed his the pocket of his hoodie.

"Oh, um, no," he mumbled. Marco reached out to him, but his fingers only grazed the sleeve of Jean’s hoodie before he flinched away. Marco was too confused to muster up a glare, too startled to do anything but blink owlishly. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Jean, what’s wrong?" 

Before Jean could step away, before he could shy from Marco’s touch (something that seriously bothered Marco; Jean had never refused a simple touch on the arm. Something was  _wrong_ ), Marco pushed his hands into the pocket of Jean’s hoodie, reaching to clasp his hands in the soft warmth as he’d done countless times in the past.

Except there was something where Marco’s hands ought to be.

Jean breathed a muffled curse and clenched his hand around the little box. Marco’s eyes were impossibly wide; his fingertips had brushed the velvet, felt the small metal hinge that would allow it to swing open. His hands hung limp in the pocket, remaining there even as Jean withdrew his own, bringing with them the little black box. He smiled shyly up at Marco, rolling the box in his hand.

"Your adorable little habit just ruined my plan," he accused playfully. Marco’s mouth fell open, then closed, then opened again. Jean’s free hand came up and rested on the back of his neck, drawing him down to rest his forehead against Jean’s. He lifted the box up, holding it between their chests, and flicked it open with his thumb. Nestled within, side by side, were two matching black tungsten bands. "Marry me." His voice was low and calm, despite his earlier nervousness. It was a question and a command all at once, imploring and demanding and pleading.

Marco gripped the wrist of the hand at the back of his neck and slipped his free hand behind Jean’s neck, tilting his head upward into a kiss that wasn’t coordinated enough to erase his smile. He murmured, “Of course, you idiot,” against Jean’s lips, his voice shaking. He kissed Jean again, laughter bubbling up between kisses. Without breaking the kiss, Jean managed to slide their rings onto their fingers, quickly tossing the box aside to grip at Marco’s shirt as the taller man dragged them over the back of the couch, laughing brightly at his fiancé. 

In the end, Marco burned his pumpkin pie and was forced to prepare a second. Not that he minded, of course, as he stared down at his ring with a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> AH so this is totally based on a true story. My then-boyfriend (husband now) bought me a promise ring and I had a habit of sticking my hands in his hoodie pockets when we kissed. And uh, there was my promise ring and he just goes, "so much for that surprise."
> 
> This was my prompt:  
> "How about a prompt for awkward marriage proposals? Perhaps Jean or Marco just can't find the right time and/or place, or perhaps when they do propose, they mess up? I'm sorry I just think they'd be the dorkiest couple at proposing to each other hehe :D"
> 
> And I'd totally been planning on writing it anyway, so I guess the prompt was just an excuse to get it done sooner!
> 
> Peace, love, and chai <3


End file.
